


Morals. Ethics. Semantics.

by FuzzyMonk



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, BottomAmelie, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, TopAngela, there is no overwatch, they both need a lot of work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 07:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuzzyMonk/pseuds/FuzzyMonk
Summary: A soft laugh. Amelie knew why. Here was this crazy woman interrupting her break. But Amelie couldn’t bring herself to stop. Everything else stopped when this woman looked at her, when she spoke with that hint of accent. When her eyes saw her as a person and not a pity. She needed that moment. That moment where everything ceased to exist.





	Morals. Ethics. Semantics.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to continue this but I really can't make promises. But listen they both got issues and Angela is no angel.

Amelie had never been to a hospital after hours. Well, hospitals didn’t have hours, she reasoned to herself. She’d never been to a hospital at 1am before. Yet here she was, listening to her flats echo around the stark white walls. She stared at the signs overhead to avoid the passing employees. Each job had their own scrub color, Amelie learned yesterday. She’d had a lot of time to spend watching people in this sickhouse. The respiratory therapists wore light blue, techs wore dark blue, cardiology was red. 

Pink scrubs walked towards her now. Amelie didn’t know that one. She assumed something related to OB and deliberately looked anywhere else until they passed. 

She’d almost made it to the cafeteria when another pair of scrubs appeared, this time purple. She didn’t know purple either. But this one was her favorite shade. They still had their masks and gowns on, those little blue covers on their feet, and spoke quietly as they neared her. 

“It’s literally down the block. North of here. Best drinks on this side of town.” 

“All I can think about is sleep, and you want to go to a bar?”

One of them bumped her as they passed.

“Sorry.” It wasn’t the one that bumped her that said it. It was the other one. The one with tendrils of blonde hair creeping out from under her scrub cap.

“It’s fine,” Amelie answered, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She couldn’t do eye contact right now. The only thing she could do was coffee. And maybe french fries. When was the last time she’d eaten? 

Most of the cafeteria had shut down. A lone woman stood by a grill. She gave a tight lipped smile when Amelie approached and didn’t make eye contact either. She must be used to seeing people like Amelie. Exhausted people who didn’t belong here, didn’t want to be here, but had nowhere else to go. 

Amelie glanced over the woman’s shoulder at the fryer. “Do you have french fries?”

“I’m out. Tater tots?”

“That’s fine.”

The girl turned and opened a freezer, pulling out a plastic bag. “It’ll take five minutes. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine. I’ll be back.”

She waited to see if the girl would acknowledge her. She didn’t know why. But she didn’t, so Amelie turned and made her way to the beverages. The coffee looked a little thick as it fell into her cup, but Amelie didn’t care. It was sustenance at this point, nothing more. By the time she’d grabbed her drink and a few ketchup packets, her tots were ready, sitting at the edge of the grill in a styrofoam container. Happy little red checkered paper poked out of the sides and Amelie couldn’t find the voice to thank the girl. It was just as well, the girl wasn’t looking her way anyway. 

Time lost itself on the way to the register and only reasserted itself when the cashier gave her a price. Amelie blinked, and immediately felt the lack of a strap on her shoulder. Shit, she’d forgotten her purse upstairs. She heaved a sigh and forced her eyes upward. She still couldn’t do eyes. Between them would have to do. The cashier looked understanding, but not that understanding. 

“I don’t suppose we can charge it to a room.”

Another tight lipped smile. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine. Can I--

An arm reached across her field of vision, and Amelie watched as a card tapped against a reader. She didn’t have time to read the name before it pulled away and the red dot suddenly blinked green. She looked to the cashier for an explanation, but the cashier looked to her left and offered a slightly wider smile. 

“Thank you,” she spoke on Amelie’s behalf.

Amelie turned just in time to see the woman shrug. She had a scrub cap on her head. Purple, the same shade. Blonde hair crept from beneath it. Eyes. Amelie met them. Stormy, with a smile to match. The mask was gone, but Amelie didn’t dare look further. Not this close.

Those eyes did exactly what she’d been trying to avoid. They saw right through her. Amelie swallowed and lifted her box. 

“Thank you,” she managed. Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed to a table.

A few stragglers looking just as haggard as her sat as far apart as possible in the seating area. Amelie joined them, sitting two tables away from the nearest person. News played on a television behind her, but without focusing on English she could tune it out as gibberish. Her box creaked loudly when it opened. Tater tots that looked too brown. She should have grabbed some salt. At this point, it was too much effort. Eating was already looking to be too optimistic.

Amelie swallowed again, her throat dry, and tried her coffee. Mercifully, it was boiling hot and distracted her from the taste. She forced a few swallows before shoving a tot into her mouth and closing her eyes. She didn’t know if it was the food or her, but she chewed for ages, unable to will her mouth to swallow. It wasn’t until she dipped her head back and heaved a sigh that she was able to get the morsel down. There. That was enough to keep her alive. 

A chair creaked to her right. The purple scrub cap appeared, a table away, but not near far enough as the others. She’d gotten coffee too, and something covered in saran wrap. The white lab coat gave her away as a doctor immediately, but the scrubs underneath matched her cap. Purple was her favorite color. Amelie wondered what it meant. She wondered as the woman pulled out her phone and rolled her eyes at whatever she saw. As she texted with one hand while fiddling with the saran wrap with the other. 

Doctors were assholes. Amelie knew this from experience. And, realistically, her meal was like five dollars. But here, at 1am in this piece of shit sterile place, this was the only woman to...to what? Amelie didn’t know herself. But somehow, this woman had given her exactly what she needed. And she was just the right level of desperate to want more. 

She was quite attractive, really. Sharp jaw and pointed nose. Bags under the eyes that likely rivaled Amelie’s. Full lips that just barely mouthed whatever it was that she was texting. Amelie didn’t realize she had lost herself until she absently popped another tot in her mouth and found herself unable to chew it. So she crushed it with her tongue and forced it down.

The doctor put her phone down, now fully focused on unwrapping her food. A muffin revealed as the plastic finally gave way. Amelie winced. It was likely very stale. The smell of grease made her stomach uneasy. Amelie closed the box with another creak.

“What does purple mean?” Her voice may as well have been a banshee’s wail in this place. But the woman was the only one to look up, head tilted.

“Pardon?”

“Your scrubs. What does purple mean?”

“Oh,” the woman looked down and took a breath. “Um, surgery. Trauma.”

“What about pink?”

A soft laugh. Amelie knew why. Here was this crazy woman interrupting her break. And she was a trauma surgeon of all things. Probably the hardest working of any physician here at this hour. But Amelie couldn’t bring herself to stop. Everything else stopped when this woman looked at her, when she spoke with that hint of accent. When her eyes saw her as a person and not a pity. She needed that moment between the grill and the cash register. That moment where everything ceased to exist. 

“Hot pink is L and D. Pastel is NICU.”

“Mmm...this had more red.”

“Probably a tech, then. I’m not sure.”

“I’m sorry.”

Another head tilt. “What for?”

Amelie felt tears prick at her eyes and looked down at her coffee. “Being a crazy person.”

“It’s not crazy to make conversation.”

“Isn’t it? Here? At 1am, where you probably want a much deserved break?”

The woman licked her lips. Amelie could feel those eyes on her but couldn’t dare meet them. She was too busy willing tears not to fall. A chair screeched. The woman moved one table closer. 

“What’s your name?”

“Amelie.”

“Amelie, I’m Angela. It’s nice to meet you.”

A hand appeared in her peripheral. It was dry as Amelie shook it, threatening to crack around the knuckles. Unsurprising. 

“Angela,” Amelie repeated. “You have an accent.”

“As do you.”

“Yes, but mine is easy to pinpoint.”

“Switzerland.”

Amelie scoffed. “Why are you  _ here?” _ The ‘America’ was heavily implied in her disdainful French accent. 

“I suppose I could ask the same of you.”

She let the comment hang in the air. She didn’t take it back or shift uncomfortably like most would when asking a guest of the hospital. Amelie felt the tears recede. 

“I don’t know.” Amelie lifted her eyes. Angela’s hospital badge, the one she’d paid for Amelie’s bill with, was clipped to her lab coat but stuffed in the front pocket. She met those stormy eyes again. Amelie could feel herself wanting something to happen. Something to break up the droning English of the television behind her and the hum of the A/C and the deep, dark stare of this woman’s eyes. 

Once again, Angela gave her what she needed. “Well, I hope this is the worst night you’ll ever have.”

Amelie understood her words. But all she could do was nod.

Angela smiled and stood, muffin and coffee untouched as she scooped them up. Without saying goodbye, Angela threw her items away and made her way to the exit. Amelie watched her go, the slight sway of her lab coat, before she disappeared down a hallway. 

The loneliness crept back in as if it had never left. Everything was too quiet now, ringing in her ears. Her stomach knotted either from her pitiful dinner or not enough of it. There was no point in delaying any longer. She tossed her food and lifted each leaden foot one by one back upstairs. 

The silence was even more deafening up here. Lights dimmed for the patients, nurses whispering, and machines beeping incessantly. Amelie felt dizzy as she neared tread down the hallway. A small, stupid part of her hoped that she’d see Angela walk out of one of these rooms. But this wasn’t trauma. She had no reason to be up here. And Amelie had no reason to think about her so. 

“Ma’am?”

Amelie turned and blinked a nurse into focus. She had her purse in her hands. “We thought you’d left and forgotten it. So we had it at the nurses’ station.”

The woman extended it, another tight lipped smile. Amelie could only nod as she slung it over her shoulder. She should go back in there. She had a duty to go back in there. 

“Thank you. I was just coming back for it.”

The nurse nodded and left her side. Amelie was alone again. She stood in the empty hallway that wasn’t empty at all and listened to the signs of life around her in beeps and vents. She’d taken the elevator, but the stairs were two steps away. An alert went off somewhere behind her. A code, someone dying. 

Lunging, she reached the door and pushed herself into the stairway, racing down the steps. She didn’t start breathing until she heard the door slam behind her. And for a brief moment, it felt like freedom. She let the feeling of that moment carry her legs down the rest of the stairs and out the door. 

Nighttime hit her like a breath of fresh air, and she inhaled it deeply, body singing with the shadows. There was no going back in there. Not tonight. Nowhere else to go either. Limited on options, Amelie turned north, and walked down the street. 

A bar did appear before too long. Subtle, but not intimidating. The music was just the right volume to either ignore or enjoy. Most importantly, it was nearly empty. She saw an older man at the bar and a couple sitting at the booth and no one else. And it was perfect. She could crawl into a little corner booth with never ending Sazeracs and forget. 

Amelie watched as the bartender made her drink and took a sip the moment it was handed to her. It burned down her throat and simmered in her empty stomach. So she took another, longer drink, until nothing but ice touched her lips. Then she set the glass down again.

“Keep them coming, please. I won’t be driving,” she added, upon seeing his raised brow.

“You’re damn right you won’t be,” he said, but nodded anyway and made another.

She waited at least until she got to the corner booth she’d had her eye on since she arrived before taking another drink. It was already hitting her, a warm buzz running up the base of her neck to her brain. Pacing herself was not going to be an option. No one knew her in this godforsaken place anyway. 

She was on her third drink and just starting to quiet the thoughts when she heard the bartender shout. 

“Hey, morning, Angie. You get off early for once?”

Amelie lifted her head so fast her vision swam. When it finally cleared she had to stare to make sure the alcohol wasn’t playing games. She was a fair bit tipsy, but not quite drunk. Not drunk enough to mistake the woman walking through the door and flashing a smile at the bartender. She’d changed out of her scrubs and into what looked like yoga pants and a t shirt. Amelie stared at the roundness of her ass, the soft swells of muscle along her legs, and took another drink just as Angela answered him.

“I was on call. It just ended.”

“You got fucked up hours.”

Angela laughed and her eyes caught Amelie’s. Her mouth hung open for a moment, not in shock, but intrigue. Amelie checked her watch. It had been two hours since their first encounter. Surely this was just another blessed coincidence. Amelie didn’t know if she wanted it to be or not. Nevertheless, she lifted her glass to Angela in a toast and took a sip. Angela inclined her head back and turned towards the bartender again. 

Amelie watched him make another Sazerac and her stomach tightened. She wanted so desperately for it to be true, and made the wish in the bottom of her third glass. Alcohol and Angela made her forget, and she would gladly drown in both tonight. 

Beer in one hand, cocktail in the other, Angela made her way over. 

“Amelie, right?"

“Oui.”

Angela nodded. But she did not sit. Not presumptuous. Amelie liked that, even as she waved at the seat across from her. 

“I overheard you in the hallway. Talking about a bar. I hope it’s not…”

“Crazy?”

“Yes.”

Angela shrugged. “Hospitals create their own ebb and flow of normalcy. I don’t think it’s crazy to want to escape it.”

“I’m glad I did. I...needed this.”

Angela nodded as she took the offered seat. “I often do, too.

“I imagine you experience death a lot.”

Her lips were pressed against the top of the bottle, but she still smiled and took a drink before she answered. “I try to avoid it.”

Amelie laughed. It made her chest ache. It was sore from crying. She welcomed the pain. 

“May I ask what you do?” Angela asked.

“I’m a dancer. Ballet.”

Angela’s eyebrows lifted. Amelie liked that she could clearly see the doctor was impressed behind that soft smile. 

“And I thought I had a hard job.”

Another laugh. Another ache. God make her do it again. Amelie took another long sip. Her tongue was already numb. 

Time could only be told by the number of glasses on their table. Amelie was pleasantly drunk and past the point of caring. It was too good being here, being drunk, being numb. Watching someone else’s eyes gaze at her. She couldn’t go back tonight. She’d stepped off that cliff the moment she took the stairs. 

“Do you need a ride?”

“Yes.”

“Where to?”

Amelie swallowed. Wished she’d had one more drink. Because maybe then she’d be able to forgive herself in the morning, blame the alcohol. Still, she met those again and licked her lips. 

“Your place.”

Angela raised a brow, slow smile forming at the corners of her mouth. Then she stood and offered her hand. Amelie took it, sliding easily from the booth, and welcomed the hand around her waist. The parking lot was nearly empty when they stepped out and Amelie fell into step by the doctor. They made their way to an SUV by the edge of the building.

Amelie had just extended her hand for the door when she felt the hand on her waist grip tight. Her back slammed into the passenger door and her legs lifted off the ground as Angela fell between them. Her lips were much softer than the hands gripping her thighs, but the kiss was rough. Amelie let herself moan into Angela’s mouth and tasted her tongue, her hands circling around to hold her close. 

“Liquor tastes so good on your tongue,” Angela breathed into her mouth, sealing it again with her lips. Her hips rocked against Amelie’s, hands digging into her thighs. Amelie could feel the burn of her grip on her skin, knew there would be marks. She just shoved her tongue deeper into Angela’s mouth, moaning when Angela bit it.

She was breathless by the time Angela set her feet back on the ground. Her lips tingled from the alcohol and abuse. Angela had bit the bottom one a few times, and quick swipe of the tongue confirmed it was swollen. Hands on her waist edged her to the side, opened the door, and helped her inside. 

There was a pleasant throbbing between her legs, eager for what was to come. She knew she was already embarrassingly wet. Just the sensation of Angela’s hips, her firm body, her strength, was nearly enough to send her over the edge.

“Was that your idea of foreplay?” Amelie asked as they pulled out of the bar. 

Angela smirked. “You tell me.”

“I--

Amelie’s words were cut off as she felt Angela’s hand on her thigh. It dipped between her legs, rubbing her softly through the material. She groaned, spreading her legs as far as the seat would allow. In her peripheral she could see Angela’s soft smile. It grew wider when the bold hand slid beneath her waistband and felt the wetness there.

“Whatever it was, it worked.” Damn doctors. So arrogant. “Do you think you can make it to my apartment?” she asked, voice steady even as she ran slow circles over Amelie’s clit. 

Amelie moaned, hips lifting off the seat to meet her hand. “I’ve made my decision tonight. I won’t make any more.”

She expected another smile. Or maybe a moan. But Angela merely pulled her hand out and parked her car. The drive to Angela’s apartment was so short it must have been within walking distance of the hospital. 

Amelie didn’t wait for Angela to get the door, stepping out and taking her place by the doctor’s side. She got pinned again in the elevator but this time she was ready, lifting one long leg to hook around Angela’s hip. Angela smiled against her lips, the kiss slower than in the parking lot, testing and teasing and nipping until the elevator stopped.

Once inside Angela’s apartment, she wasted no time on a tour, dragging Amelie to the bedroom and peeling off her shirt. Teeth sunk into her collarbone as her back hit the bed and Amelie hissed as a tongue followed the pain. She threaded her fingers through Angela’s hair and tilted her head back, feeling those deft hands remove her bra as her skin ignited under those lips.

Alcohol and situations aside, it had been a very long time since Amelie felt like this. A craving, carnal need for sex. To be worshipped and wanted and fuck off of instinct. Her body shivered even as it radiated heat, her sex pulsing with need and soaking wet. Lips latched around her nipple and she dug her nails into Angela’s scalp, pushing her closer. Angela obeyed and sucked harder, but not enough. The bites weren’t enough to leave marks, the sucking not long enough for a bruise. 

“Mark me,” she groaned finally, raking her nails down Angela’s back. “Fucking take me.”

Angela pulled away and in a moment, Amelia’s hands were pinned above her head. The grip was tight, and Amelie barely had time to open her mouth to receive Angela’s kiss, followed by a searing bite on the lip. Amelie whimpered and felt another pulse of desire.

“What happened to no more decisions?” she purred against her ear, nipping at the lobe and running her tongue along the ridge. 

Then she felt the teeth on her breast. Her back arched as Angela finally obeyed, sucking on the sensitive skin until Amelie felt she would bloom all over. Up her chest and to her shoulder, teeth marks and bruises and scratches from the nails along her side. 

Amelie’s nails dug into the t-shirt, rolling it up under her fingers. Angela paused just a moment to throw it and her bra off before attacking her skin again. She felt welts rising, heat lifting from simmering bites, listened to Angela’s groan as she dug her nails into newly revealed skin. 

Lips trailed downward, past her navel. Angela sucked on her hip bones, leaving a mark on each one. When Amelie squirmed at the near-ticklish sensation, Angela held her firmly in place. Now that her shirt was gone, Amelie could feel the rigid muscle that lay underneath. Angela’s abs were taut against her own stomach. Clearly the yoga pants were used for more than just fashion. She ran her hand up a muscled bicep and moaned at the strength she found there. No wonder Angela had thrown her around so easily. 

Her hips lifted, brushing against Angela’s chin. Angela took the hint, fingers dipping into the waistband of Amelie’s pants and tugging them down. Clarity came back to her in a moment. She hadn’t showered, hadn’t prepped for this sort of thing. But before the anxiety could overtake her Angela brushed it away with her tongue.

Amelie gasped, rising off of the bed before strong hands grabbed her waist and held her back down. Angela let her tongue lave long and slow, licking up Amelie’s excess excitement. Occasionally, her tongue would graze over Amelie’s clit, making her hips rock forward for more. But then she’d pull away.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” spoken in reverence before Angela savored her again. 

Amelie slid her fingers through that blonde hair and tried to formulate words. It had been so long since she’d been touched like this, worshipped. The teasing didn’t matter. Angela could do whatever she wanted to her, so long as it felt like this. 

After what felt like hours, Angela finally focused. Her hands slid up to Amelie’s tender breasts, massaging them as she sucked her clit into her mouth. Amelie gasped in surprise before melting into the touch. Her hands fell over Angela’s daring her to squeeze harder.

Angela gave her no warning as she thrust two fingers into her. White burst behind Amelie’s eyes, legs seizing as those fingers curled and pain fizzled into pleasure. Angela set the pace, fingers thrusting hard as her tongue worked her clit. Amelie loved each shudder of her own body, the way she rocked up the bed with each harsh thrust. 

Yes, she thought. Use me, use me, use me, over and over in her head as her orgasm built. 

Angela fucked her harder, eventually sliding another finger inside of her. Amelie wailed with each thrust, body fraying at the seams as her mind spiraled. She wasn’t silenced for it. Angela was far too focused on her task. Amelie felt certain she was screaming by the time her orgasm finally hit. 

She rose from the bed, sound silenced and mouth hanging open in a wordless call. Her mind blissfully blanked, too overloaded to function, to remember, to regret. She closed her eyes and pumped her hips to Angela’s rough pace, drawing out each and every pulse. 

By the time it finally subsided she was back on the bed. She must have collapsed at one point. She felt lips on her thighs as Angela cleaned her mouth. Before she could even muster the strength to thank her, Amelie fell asleep.

She woke to the sound of rushing water. Amelie opened her eyes and winced automatically, but no headache came. She must still be drunk. Opening them again, she checked the clock and groaned. No wonder she was still drunk. It was barely 6am. 

A door opened nearby and Angela appeared. Her hair was down, flopped to one side and a mess of bed head. She brushed her teeth with way too much vigor and smiled as she gazed at Amelie. She was still naked, sleeping atop the sheets. Amelie watched those stormy eyes line up and down her body before Angela smirked.

“Oh good, you’re awake. Sorry, I’ve got to head out.”

Ah. Amelie knew that line. No breakfast then. She sat up slowly, still fearing a headache, and stretched. Angela watched her chest rise and fall, toothbrush slowing. 

“May I use your bathroom?”

“Mhmm.” Angela jutted her thumb behind her. 

Amelie followed it, feeling eyes on her ass as she passed, and closed the door behind her. She came face to face with the mirror, and her eyes widened. 

Bruises lined up and down her neck and across her collarbones. Raised, red slashes lined her sides, a hickey on each hip. She looked like she’d gotten run over. No. She looked like she’d been well and thoroughly fucked. The tenderness between her legs was testament to that enough. Amelie would have smiled, if she didn’t feel utterly ashamed. She knew she hadn’t had enough to drink to forget last night. But she would give anything for it now. 

She barely made it to the toilet before she threw up, head pulsing with each retch. It didn’t ease the ache in her stomach as she flushed and washed her hands. She stole some of Angela’s mouthwash and felt like vomiting again when she spit it out. Her pale skin made the marks burst in color in the stark light of the bathroom. No matter where she looked, she couldn’t avoid them. 

She nearly raced out of the bathroom. Stumbling into the bedroom, she quickly found her clothes and tried to smooth the creases. Angela appeared in the doorway, watching again, and Amelie felt her stomach sink.

“Listen, last night was…” Amelie found she couldn’t finish.

“A one time thing,” Angela finished, brushing past her. She had on slacks today, and a button up shirt that was still unbuttoned. In the light, her abs were pronounced, a lone hickey on the left side. Amelie saw her grab a watch from the nightstand and slide it on. 

“I’m serious.”

Angela scoffed, never looking more like a doctor than she did now. “Me too.” 

They looked at each other. Amelie didn’t know what she expected but this time she didn’t find it Angela’s eyes. 

“Besides. You’ve got a spouse to return to.”

Amelie’s hand clenched, and she felt the press of the metal band on her left hand. She’d never taken it off. 

“I...you...you knew I was married?”

“Assumed.”

“And you still fucked me?” Amelie hated the shrill edge of her own voice.

Angela’s eyebrows raised. “The spouse is your problem, not mine.” She turned away from Amelie and buttoned up her shirt. “You certainly didn’t care last night.”

“I was drunk.”

Angela turned back to glance at her, smirking. “Not that drunk.”

Amelie hated that she knew. She balled her hands at her sides, stomach churning and head pulsing. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many things she wanted to do. But Angela had finished with her shirt at this point, and glanced at her watch. 

“Look, I really have to go. Hospital’s that way a couple of blocks.” She pointed behind Amelie’s shoulder. "Sorry for the short notice."

"I...it's fine."

* * *

 

Angela had shooed her out without so much as a goodbye. Amelie supposed she deserved that. She also deserved the headache that pounded with each step. She deserved a car to slam into her on the way there. But the driver didn’t deserve that, so she kept her feet on the grass. 

On autopilot, she grabbed a water bottle from the gift shop on her way up and tried to down it. The hallway was brighter than before when she entered, monitors dulled by the chatter of the morning shift who’d just arrived. She snuck past them and made her way into the room at the end of the hall.

Gerard lay exactly where she left him. His chest rose and fell with each pump of the ventilator, eyes taped shut. He was pale. The room smelled of urine. His urine drainage bag was almost full. Amelie thought to call the nurse but pulled her shirt higher up her neck instead. The neck that was covered in hickeys. On a body that still smelled of sex. 

Amelie shut the door and turned on the lights. She touched his hand. It was dry, a bit too cold. She pulled her shirt down, bared her neck to him, and showed him the marks he would never see. 


End file.
